


Beholden

by cellist



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Aftermath of Poisoning, But maybe not, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Episode: s01e04 The Poisoned Chalice, Gen, Gen or Pre-Slash, M/M, Night Terrors, Nimueh Actually Helps, Possibly Unrequited Love, Protective Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Protective Merlin (Merlin)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-14
Updated: 2020-12-14
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:53:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,510
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28072005
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cellist/pseuds/cellist
Summary: Merlin's not sure why he goes to Arthur's chambers one night shortly after the events of The Poisoned Chalice, but he does. He's also not sure what he thought he'd find, but it definitely wasn't Arthur caught in the throes of a night terror that seems to be about him.In which Nimueh's actions actually do some good, to a certain degree.
Relationships: Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 113





	Beholden

**Author's Note:**

> Another oldie that I've given a little edit and wanted to share here. Hope you like it, and if you do, I'll be posting more Merlin over the coming days. Plus a longer chaptered story that's Merlin/Arthur that I want to finally finish after it's been languishing on my hard drive for a few years...

He’s not entirely sure why he pauses before going into Arthur’s chamber. It’s not even as though it’s his first day. No, that day he became frozen by the need to avoid the tongue-lashing he was sure to get for being late, and yet not quite ready to accept the fact that he was now servant to the most obnoxious man he’d ever met... And even then Arthur had managed to get the upper hand, his voice suddenly ringing far too loudly from behind him, unexpectedly echoing off the cold stone walls: “I think you need to actually go _inside_ my chamber in order to be my manservant.” And Merlin had turned to see a condescending smirk flow effortlessly across Arthur’s face, his mouth crooked and mocking. “Just a tip; might like to keep it in mind – future reference.”

No, this was nothing like then and yet, he still does it. Just a beat, a held breath, almost as if he can feel something inside him needing to get out but he’s not entirely sure what it is.

His hand reaches out, unbidden. It grazes along the ironwork, glancing off the cold metal, and the sensation shoots along his arm. Outside the sun is weak and pale; a newborn struggling to take hold of the day. He closes his eyes. Another breath shudders out of him. Each one feels as though it’s being pulled from deep inside, from somewhere new and alien that he’s not really completely comfortable with.

Perhaps, (and he knows, just knows that now would be the perfect time for Arthur to appear behind him, to break this maudlin moment in the only way he can - brashly), the poison that Nimueh had used did more than bring him nearly to the brink of death. Perhaps, despite Gaius’s reassurances, she wove some other enchantment upon the potion, a combination of words that even Gaius’s books couldn’t explain.

Or perhaps this has nothing to do with magic at all.

Perhaps this is something far older and infinitely more human.

It’s ironic that for the first time in his life, he really doesn’t want to be right. In fact he’d give pretty much anything, right at this instant, this very second, to have Arthur open up the door and laugh in his face.

Of course, he doesn’t. But Merlin does hear him. Or at least he assumes it’s him. The noise is indistinct and fleeting, but as he knows it’s definitely come from the other side of the wooden door, he draws the conclusion that either Arthur has indeed just cried out in his sleep, or he’s in trouble.

Surely no one could be that unlucky – although past experiences have tended to prove this fact spectacularly wrong – and maybe it’s for that reason alone that he finally throws off his momentary bout of indecision and eases the door open.

The shutters darken the room, deep shadows crawling across the stone flagstones towards him. 

This room is as known to him as his own; each crook and cranny is indelibly imprinted inside his eyelids, and yet he still trips and stumbles, still has to save himself from falling to his knees by grabbing at the table. Though unlike other times, this morning it’s more to do with the fact that he can’t take his eyes from Arthur, rather than his inherent clumsiness.

Arthur, who had come to him just a few hours ago: cock-sure, arrogant and full of himself just as normal...and yet... Something _was_ different, had been different, was still so, if what Merlin was seeing now was anything to go by.

Despite the noise his foot made connecting with the chair leg, and regardless of the pained gasp he had to stifle, Arthur still hasn’t woken. This is, he knows, predominantly down to the fact that Arthur is too trapped inside some kind of nightmare. Of course, after everything that has happened so far to them both, Merlin realises he may have that _completely_ wrong, but he’s willing to go on instinct. That and the near fool proof reasoning that him being poisoned is enough excitement to last them both for the foreseeable future, is what makes him still his immediate reaction to run to Arthur’s side.

In addition to the fact that it’s at that moment that he hears Arthur’s voice, pained and hoarse.

“Merlin-” Whatever he was going to say is choked off and Merlin has to stop himself, yet again, from turning around, just to double check that Nimueh or some other Sorcerer isn’t lurking in the corner. They’re not, and Merlin resumes watching his troubled master. He’s not entirely sure why he doesn’t move closer. It’s not fear – he’s never truly been afraid of Arthur – scared of his seemingly never ending pig-headedness, but not _of him_. And it’s definitely not respect – yes, he does respect Arthur, as much as he allows him to before he ruins it all with some acerbic remark about Merlin’s skills or lack thereof, but even so... He takes a half step, eyes riveted to the tangled covers entwined around Arthur’s legs, the hitched way his chest rises and falls, each breath torn from him almost forcefully.

He looks at him now and sees the man who risked everything to save him. Not merely his life, but the very kingdom and safety of his subjects. It’s a moment that Merlin both hates, and welcomes. One of the first times he’s contemplated exactly what Arthur has to face each day.

It makes fearing his secret will be discovered rather small in comparison; or at least it does right now.

Merlin blinks, confused, his hand suddenly mere inches away from Arthur’s hair and he’s not entirely sure what he thought he was about to do. He wasn’t even aware that he had moved and as his flesh isn’t tingling in that now recognisable way, he’s certain he moved of his own volition. His eyes graze over Arthur’s features; his brow creased far more than Merlin has ever seen it; eyes squeezed tightly shut; mouth a thin, controlled line – and he wants nothing more than to wake him, to ease this torment that he appears to be part of.

For the life of him he can’t understand why Arthur would be in pain over _him_.

“Merlin, for god’s sake, don’t drink-” This makes him frown and move before conscious thought has warned him that it’s really _not a good idea_ , that, in fact, it’s a _monumentally_ stupid one, and his fingers graze along Arthur’s cheek softly. His skin is damp and clammy to the touch and Merlin hears shushing sounds fall from his lips, nonsensical words that he briefly hopes aren’t some kind of spell he’s not yet aware of, because it would be just his luck to be saved from being poisoned to be burnt by Uther for turning his son into god knows what... when the tension begins to ease out of the body before him, slowly, by degrees. It’s not long after that when Merlin becomes aware of the fact that he’s still stroking Arthur’s face. Not only that, but Arthur has actually turned into the touch and something inside Merlin shifts, irrevocably.

“Arthur?” He knows he’s awake – there’s an imperceptible flicker – the shadow of Arthur’s eyes moving under closed lids to look at him without truly seeing and Merlin smiles at that; the rightness of it, the aptness to the instinctual response resting upon him heavily. This is how they are, it seems, _this_ is how they’re destined to tiptoe around each other and he clenches his free hand into a tight fist.

Then Arthur turns his head, the pretence of sleep still soft upon his features as his lips graze Merlin’s palm, as if giving silent thanks.

And it’s then that Merlin feels the floor give way, just for the length of time it takes for his heart to pound forcefully against his temple; once, twice. It’s gone as soon as it comes, Arthur following the movement through, rolling from his back to front, effectively refusing any more comfort that Merlin might give and leaving him standing there, staring down at the pseudo sleeping Prince. Sighing deeply, only too aware that this peaceful atmosphere will be broken within a few minutes, Merlin takes Arthur’s cue. He turns away, busying himself with thoughts of the coming day, of their lives continuing on in some semblance of normality – or as normal as it could ever be for them.

He pauses, after only having taken a few steps, looking back as if to check that what has passed between them isn’t part of some fevered hallucination brought on by the lingering after effects of Nimueh’s magic. He doesn’t know if he should be relieved or concerned to see Arthur facing him, still sprawled under his covers, but those bright, cornflower blue eyes wide open with something laced through them that Merlin really doesn’t want to look into. Not now and most definitely not here.

And for once, Arthur doesn’t ridicule him.


End file.
